Subterfuge Shattered
by fefe4ever
Summary: Three girls, thrown together by fate. Each has left something behind. Each has a reason to go forward. None of them are who they seem to be, yet all of them yearn to live-not just to survive. All three carry emotional baggage like Atlas carries the world. All three have something to lose and something to gain. All three need to win the Hunger Games. *NOT AN SYOT*
1. Prologue

**Hello, friends~! This is my very first FF. *squee* Of course, R&R and whatnot. XD A special thanks to Sownth and Kris, for pushing me to finally publish my writing. Love you all~!**

**Disclaimer: Hunger Games and all affiliates are in no way owned by me.**

* * *

_7:42 AM, June 8__th__, Year of the 100__th__ Hunger Games_

My brother, three years my elder, was a fool. A weak, sentimental fool. And now he's dead. What an idiot.

But, I suppose, I really must thank him. Ever since his little rebellion failed a quarter century ago, the Hunger Games have run so much more smoothly with me captaining the ship. Not a thing has happened during the past 25 years that Snow could even blink an eye at. And this year is the grand finale. This year is the fourth Quarter Quell.

I'm sitting here now, in my plush, custom-made Head Gamemaker's chair. Technically, it was custom-made for my brother, but whatever. It's mine now. I crossed my legs and tucked a stray strand of my green hair behind my ear. I really need to get a new coiffeur. It simply wouldn't do to have my hair done by a woman older than Caesar Flickerman—for the Hunger Games, no less! I wonder what his color scheme would be this year… _Never mind that_, I thought as I made a mental note to get a new beautician.

"Miss Crane? Miss Crane?" a voice called to me, snapping me back to the meeting. What was it for again? Oh, yes—the finalization of the arena. Uncrossing my legs, I leaned into the table and my chair automatically pushed itself forward a couple inches in reaction to the shifting of my weight. I looked to my right-hand-man, Julius, attentively. "We've built the tunnels and the caverns already. The maze is all set and the Launch Rooms are being prepared as we speak. Prep teams and designers have been brought on board—almost all have worked for us in the past—and muttations have been bred. All that's left now is the tributes themselves."

"Good work, Julius," I said to him, nodding in hid general direction. I do not give compliments very often at all, and the young man beamed at my words, the silver tattoos on his temples gleaming. "The first Reaping is tomorrow, in District 12. I presume this year's Escort has already been dispatched?"

"Of course, Miss Crane," one of the other Gamemakers squeaked. Her voice was high and shrill, and I almost didn't recognize her—Sela, my goddaughter. She'd been brought on board this year, because she was so young. Only nineteen, she'd joined the board as soon as she graduated school. Of course, she'd gotten a makeover—most Capitol parents only let their kids get body modifications once they'd turned eighteen. She'd obviously gotten her eyeballs done—they were completely blue, all except the black slits that were her pupils. Her hair and lips were the same icy hue, too, making her pale skin look exponentially paler and giving us all the vision of a freezing snake. The light blue makeup over her eyes didn't help, either.

I looked over to her seat at the oval-shaped table, sizing her up. _You'll do_, I thought, but I forced myself not to say them out loud. I turned back to Julius.

"After District Twelve comes District Five. After that it's Four, Ten, and Eight, in that order. Have you sent out their Escorts yet?" I asked him. He looked over to Sela, unsure, but she nodded.

"The Escorts for Twelve, Five, Four, and Ten have been dispatched," she squeaked. "The Escort for Eight should leave in two and a half hours, at ten-fifteen sharp."

"There's your answer," Julius said as he turned to me. Interesting. Sela has only been here for two months, but she is already garnering respect. I had severely underestimated the girl.

"Good," I replied curtly. "Caesar's sent in his questions and Claudius has been briefed on the contents of the arena?" Murmurs filled the room. "Julius?" I said, looking at him expectantly. "What is the meaning of this?"

He muttered something about Claudius being sick. I sighed. Everything had been going so well… But no matter. There was still almost a month until the games begun. We would have plenty of time. "Very well, Julius, just make sure that Claudius gets briefed soon." Everyone in the room looked at me, shocked at my lack of a reaction. Usually I was prone to fits of rage whenever there was a setback in the preparation of the Games. Frankly, I don't even know why I didn't explode. I peered at the faces staring at me around the table and sighed. They grew accustomed to my outbursts quite quickly when I had first been appointed, so I assumed they would adjust to my tranquility equally as fast. I began to gather my papers and whatnot, brushing off my bright orange pantsuit and putting that irksome strand of green hair back in its place once more.

"Very well then," I said. "If everything is ready, then—"

"Excuse me, Rockelle," Sela said, raising her left arm meekly. I saw that it, too, has a serpentine tattoo on it—a blue cobra slithering up to her elbow, completely visible due to her all-too-revealing strapless blue dress. It even matched her blue-tinted snakeskin nails. I had to admit, this girl had a very nice fashion sense.

I nearly flinched when I heard her squeaky voice again, but I held it in. She was obviously not used to calling me "Miss Crane", which was understandable, I suppose, considering that I had known her since her birth and all. When we were at family dinners and such, everyone went by their first names. I decided to let it slide this time, much to the other Gamemakers horror, and turned to look at her.

"Thanks," she said with a wry grin. _She stopped me…so she could thank me? _I thought. _There sure is something off with this kid._

"For what?" I asked her, confused. For letting her borrow my backup apartment? For paying for her sweet sixteen? For letting her live with me when her parents kicked her out for a month? For giving her fashion advice when she was little? The list was endless.

"For putting me on the Gamemaker committee with you, Rockelle, " she said, smiling shyly. This was a strange feeling, this. Wow. I'd never been thanked before, and, truth be told, it felt kind of good to know I did something nice for someone else.

I am so going soft. This was most definitely not good.

But it did feel nice. Maybe I'll start doing things like this more often. Maybe I should try to do kind deeds once in a while. Maybe I'll go easy on the tributes this year. After all, it is the hundredth Hunger Games.

Nah. I like watching them suffer a whole lot more than I like doing good things. This was going to be fun.

* * *

**Hello again, friends. I really hoped you liked that-I spent hours working my butt off to get it published today. A promise is a promise, eh, Kris/Sownth? Lol. Imma be updating this story sporadically (but never more than a week apart, so don't you worry your pretty little heads), and I'm praying that I'll get it finished in time for the New Year. X3 Feedback, both positive and negative, is wonderful, so please, review. Fefe out.~**

***Please note that Rockelle, Julius, Sela, and others seen in this chapter probably won't make a reappearance unless you beg them to.***


	2. Whimsy

**Yeah, it's gonna take a while for these chapters to go up guys. Sorry 'bout that. I'll have 'em up by Christmas. Hopefully. XD And Sownth, stop trying to hug me.**

* * *

~Whimsy~

I awake to the most unpleasant sound in the world-the sound of my blasted sister's voice. Granted, it sounds just like mine, but that's not what bothers me about it. The annoying thing is that when I hear my sister's voice, I'll actually have to talk to her. Which is probably the most unpleasant thing of all, especially because I've had to do it every day for almost two months now. Consecutively. I have never been in contact with that demon for more than a week at worst.

Rolling out of bed, I throw on some clothes and go through the normal morning routine extra slowly. I make my way down the stairs at a turtle's pace when I'm done, careful not to alert the demon of my presence. I creep my way across the cold hardwood floor, trying to be as quiet as possible. But, alas, my horrible sister and her horrible Career training picked me up right away.

"You know you're never gonna be able to sneak up on me, right?" she asked. I could almost hear her smug little smirk, though her back was still facing me. I froze and just stared at the back of her head, her dark curls cascading to her elbows. As I stood there, glaring at her, she just calmly ate more eggs.

"You know, every single time I hear your voice, the part of me that wishes you dead gets a little bit stronger," I snarl crossing my arms and leaning into the door frame of the kitchen..

"Someone like you could never get close to hurting me," she retorted with a snort.

"Oh yeah? You wanna b-"

"Shut it, Whim. You're a Career reject. I'm the one who succeeded, not you. Now get over yourself, you conceited blonde bimbo. I'm ashamed that you can even call me your twin," she said, her voice rising in volume steadily until she was nearly yelling. I'm pretty sure I haven't heard her talk so much since the fifth grade. She whipped around, her brown eyes shooting daggers into my (admittedly fake) blue ones. I let my shoulders fall and turn around quickly, so the demon sister couldn't see me holding back my tears.

"I might have been rejected, but that was six years ago, Won. I've changed since then. I didn't even want to become a Career anyways. You people disgust me. You've been training your whole lives to be locked into a fake world for a week in order to kill as many people as physically possible. You guys don't even feel anything anymore when you kill. You just kill, kill, kill, like you killed that girl last month. You're past the point of humanity. You guys have lost so much of what makes you human that you just aren't anymore. You're monsters. All of you." Where did all that come from? I'm not the kind of person to give deep, well-thought-out speeches, but whatever. It doesn't matter anyways.

I don't hear a response, but I'm still afraid to turn around. I hear a clatter as Wonder sets her fork down on the table.

"You're wrong." she murmurs. She's barely audible, but I resist the urge to lean backward in order to hear her better. "We still feel things when we kill. And most of us haven't even killed before. I'm the only one. Why do you think I was expelled, Whim? If Careers killed people on a daily basis, wouldn't I still be there, doing some last minute training for the Reaping this afternoon? Whim, don't be one of those people that believes in every stereotype about the Careers. We're not gods, we're not monsters. We're just normal people, like you. You seem to forget that you were once a Career,"

"I told you never to bring that up again. I may have been a Career once, but there can only be one. And they chose you, Won. So you can take your little expulsion and-"

"Thunder's doing fine, by the way; thanks for asking." Trust Wonder to change the subject. Thunder was a boy. Though it's been a year, I can still remember every aspect of his (incredibly good-looking) features. He was a year older than us, and he'd been Flower's District partner before Wonder killed her. Now he was all alone. I'd known him since I was in Career training in elementary school-I don't think he even remembers who I am. If he saw me, he probably wouldn't recognize me anymore.

I sighed but didn't bother to reply. Instead, I made my way up the stairs again to get ready for the Reaping later today.

* * *

**It's the first legitimate chapter, and the entrance of one of our three main protagonists! Hurrah! Sorry It's so short, Imma be posting one to two a day until Christmas. XD Have fun with that. Fefe out.**


	3. Sarabella

**Merry Christmas, humans. Good tidings to you.**

* * *

~Sarabella~

Hazel burst into a fit of giggles at something her friend said. Her thin auburn hair fluttered in the wind, lifting it into the air and making it dance merrily.

She looked so happy up on that hill, as if she couldn't possibly have had encountered a sad day in her life. Her laughter was infectious, nearly even making me smile. Nostalgia enveloped me as I yearned for the days when it didn't matter how rich your family was or what jobs your parents had. I watched them through my window, her and her little friends. There were four of them-there had been since May. May was the month my sister died. Angeline had been her name, and she had been Hazel's best friend. I wondered if Hazel still remembered her.

My eyes shifted from the dusty glass window, the only one in our house, to the dirty, stained calendar that hung on the wall. It was a tattered, lonely sheet of paper that only included the month of June. Eleven boxes had been smeared over with flaking brown dirt, leading up to today's date, the twelfth, in a solemn march.

A soft tick broke the silence. I jolted around, my head swinging around to face the equally dusty clock, which hung on the fall behind me. It was two in the afternoon, on June 12. In exactly one hour, two kids would be sent to their deaths. Standing up, I walked to my battered wooden desk, peering at the scratchy brown dress I'd laid out last night. Slipping it on, I began to twist my brunette hair into a bun, piling it onto the crown of my head. Brushing my fingers against my snake necklace, l looked up toward the rotting ceiling of our little house that smelled like rotting meat, and whispered a prayer to my sister in Heaven. It was fitting really-an angel, perched on her cloud in the sky.  
Pushing open our door, I stepped into the blinding sunlight that embodied a sweltering summer day here in District Ten. I closed the door behind me and began to walk down the dirt path that led to the center of the district. My parents already at the Center, getting ready to sell leftover butchery meat to the citizens of our District.

I can hear the people before I can see them. Jogging over one last hill, I finally get a peek at the pens that made up the Reaping, and the stations with colossal lines snaking behind them. Smoothing down my hair, and brushing my fingers against my necklace again, I make my way through the crowd of anxious parents to the nearest kiosk. Standing in line takes more than half an hour on a good year. This year was, evidently, not a good year. I stood there, shuffling forward barely an inch at a time, for nearly an hour, listening to the monotonous voice of the mayor drone on and on about the honor of being Reaped, the grace of the Capitol, and other garbage no one cares about.

Before I knew it, I was standing before the Peacekeeper at the little white desk. I held out my hand and he stabbed me with the needle emotionlessly. Pain enveloped my finger, but I bit my lip and moved on, walking into the pen for 17-year-olds. People scrambled out of my way as fast as possible as soon as they saw me-my permanent scowl tends to do that to people. My chronic sarcasm and constant insults probably had something to do with it as well.

I managed to settle down right when the video started. The Capitol's great, the Districts were crushed, blah blah blah. It talks about the Dark Days and District 13, but never a single mention went to the Uprising. It's been so long that kids my age sometimes ponder if it really happened, or the Capitol's just trying to mess with us. The Capitol never officially said a single word about it, but I'm pretty sure they know more about it than we do.  
The video fades into black, leaving us with the symbol of Panem in the center of the screen. The spotlight lands on Dorine, our Escort, and she giggles. She taps the microphone thrice and promptly begins to speak. She talks too fast to be understood, with an enormous smile plastered on her absurdly pale face the entire time. Occasionally, she flips her choppy, perfectly gelled green hair. I couldn't understand a single word she said, but when she walked over to the glass bowls that held our names, I knew what was coming.

Her hand plunged into the bowl for the boys, swirling around and around until she grasped that perfect slip of paper. Pulling it out viciously, she held it in the air with a triumphant grin and declared the name written on it. It was unfamiliar to me, but the kids in the twelve-year-old pen stirred and a little boy stepped forward. His lip was quivering and he was on the verge of tears, inches away from a full-on mental breakdown. He looked quite weak, and I knew he wouldn't last long.

Tearing myself away from the saddened look on his face, I looked back to Dorine as I watched him make his way to the stage in my peripheral. After asking for volunteers (there were none, as expected), the Escort strode over to the girls' bowl and dipped her hand in. Pulling out a slip of white paper, she held the microphone to her mouth and proclaimed, "Sarabella Patel!" with triumph.

* * *

**Enter our second heroine! XD**

**Well then, there's the third chapter. Still not as long as I'd wish them to be. :P Also looking for a good cover for this story. The flower is just kinda weird. OTL (Remember taking that picture last summer, Kris? Lol.)**

**Merry Christmas, guys! Fel out.**


	4. Rosalind

**Hello, reader(s)~! Yeah, so here's chapter four. Enjoy your day.**

**Hunger Games and all affiliates are in no way owned or operated by me or any of my friends, family, and acquaintances.**

* * *

"Come on, Lindy, we have to go, or else we'll be late! And you know what the mayor does to people who are late! Everyone else already left, and the Reaping starts in half an hour!" a voice hollered from the doorway.

"Shut your face, Bry! I'm coming!" I screamed in reply. Slathering water onto my face, I poured the bucket of slightly murky liquid back into the tub that stood next to the bathroom counter. Smoothing out my bubbly pink dress and tugging on one pigtail gently to make it more even, I ran out the door. Slamming it shut behind me, I hopped onto the paved road that ran through our little town in District Seven, Oak.

Originally, our District was only one town, stationed at the center of the District territory. However, our District had very few people and all of them needed to travel to the far reaches of the District for work. The paper and furniture factories are located in the middle of the woods, far away from the Center. All factory workers and loggers walked to their jobs, but eventually, people moved out of the Center and closer to the factories. And, of course, the Capitol couldn't possibly care less.

Two families became five, five became nine. Slowly, the little towns grew until they were worthy of names. And, because we're just that loyal to logging, guess what we named them after. That's right, trees. We have enough dang trees in our district, but then those random settlers had to go and name their little towns after trees, too. I think that the dictionary definition for this kind of behavior is "obsessed".

Looking to my best friend Bryan, I raised my eyebrows at his too-large, too-gaudy tie and stiff, white collared shirt. Unable to help myself, I burst into a fit of giggles. He glared at me.

"Race you!" he called, sprinting down the path. I sighed and ran after him at a slower pace, knowing he would run out of energy soon.  
I managed to catch up to a very tired Bryan when the gong sounded in the distance. We looked at each other simultaneously and immediately began to sprint towards the District Center, my pigtails and his tie flapping in the wind. We managed to match each other's strides, and lope into the center of the District just when the mayor walked onto the stage. We split up and went to separate kiosks to get signed in, then made our ways to our respective pens-Bryan to the 16-year-old boys pen, myself to the 16-year-old girls pen. I gave him a meek smile, then began to bounce on my heels as the mayor finished his speech and cued the video. I absentmindedly twirled a pigtail while the video played. I watched it with a big, fake grin plastered on my face.

The mind-numbingly chauvinistic propaganda finally ceased, and a corpulent man with waist-long purple dreadlocks stepped onstage. He grabbed the mike stand in both hands and tilted it over, wailing, "Hello, District Seven!" into the microphone. He paused for a second, as if waiting for applause. None came. At this, stood back up and cleared his throat, obviously very taken aback.

He mumbled something unintelligible, probably his name, and walked over to the boys' bowl. Reaching in, he pulled out a tiny white paper, barely visible from where I stood amidst the teenagers. Calling out a name I didn't recognize, he had to repeat it twice before the boy could hear. A tall, awkward kid with a head too small for his body walked onto the stage, nearly tripping twice. I didn't know him by name, but I'd seen him a few times around school. He was a freshman who lived in Willow town, I think. Shaking my head and flinging my mind back into reality, I focused on what the Escort was saying.

"Time for the girls!" he said, his confidence back. As he reached into the bowl and brought out another slip of paper, my gaze wandered to the boys' pen adjacent to ours. I found Bry, staring intently at the Escort. He glanced over to me, smirked lopsidedly, then reverted his gaze back to the stage.

"Rosalind Peters!" the Escort called, his voice jolly and altogether too happy. He made a backwards shooing gesture with his hard, motioning me to get up on stage. How he knew who and where I was, I had no idea. "Come on up here, you lucky little duck!" he said with a grin. "Now, do we have any volunteers?"

Everyone looked at him oddly. District Seven has never, ever, had a volunteer before. Being Reaped was the equivalent of a death sentence. He looked nervous again, for just a second, but quickly regained his composure for a second time. "Well then, Rose-can I call you that? Do you like Rose or Rosie? Or maybe just Ro?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued to speak. "It seems you're the lucky little duckling this year! District partners, shake hands!" We shook.

"Yay!" he squealed, hopping in the air, happier than a Capitol kid on Christmas. It took every ounce of my self control not to slap that man upside the head.

* * *

**Good day, children.**


End file.
